


Detente

by JeannieMac



Category: Madam Secretary
Genre: Episode Tag, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Dynamics, Post-Episode: The French Revolution, public service
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 03:59:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9861527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeannieMac/pseuds/JeannieMac
Summary: Detente: the easing of hostility or strained relations, especially between countries. From the French ‘détente', literally ‘loosening, relaxation.’ Henry and Elizabeth, and their kids, in the aftermath of “The French Revolution” (season 3 episode 5, in which the stalker plot line was resolved).





	

As their car finally leaves the White House grounds and turns onto New York Ave, Elizabeth takes a deep breath and lets it out freely, for the first time in what feels like weeks. _It’s over,_ she tells herself again, willing it to sink in.    

Beside her, Henry yawns and lets his head fall back against the headrest. Elizabeth reaches over and takes his hand, watching his face as he turns to her. She catalogues his small, tired smile, the softening of the lines around his eyes and mouth, the way he looks at her with nothing in his expression but _hey, I’m happy to see you_ …and feels the tension in her body unspool a little farther. 

She slumps a little in her seat and closes her eyes. Fifteen minutes of quiet is a rare gift at the best of times, and tonight it feels like a minor miracle, to sit in the darkened car as it twists and turns toward home, and not do or say or even think much of anything. She focuses on her breathing, on Henry’s hand in hers, and the slow, haphazard lines he’s tracing with his thumb along the base of her palm and the inside of her wrist. Without conscious thought she answers his touch with her own, curling and uncurling her fingers where they’re interlaced with his, no direction or purpose to it other than the small, private pleasure of skin brushing along skin.

“Wake up, sleepy head,” says Henry as the car pulls up outside the house. “We’re home.”  

Elizabeth opens her eyes and smiles at him, deliberately slow and full of promise. “Who said I was sleepy?” 

She adds Henry’s answering grin, rich with desire, to her running list of things she has missed so, so much and needs to see again, as soon and as often as possible.  But they have an agreement about not embarrassing her detail with too much PDA, so she has to wait until they’re safely inside before she can reach for him again, tugging him close by the lapels of his coat. He crowds her up against the door, and they’re less than an inch away from the kiss she’s been waiting for since she asked him to dance, when -  

“Mom? Dad?" 

Because of course the kids are watching TV in the living room. Elizabeth lets her forehead fall against Henry’s for a second, feeling him shake with mostly silent, rueful laughter, and then they disengage and move the rest of the way into the house. 

“Oh hey, you’re all still up!”  

 _Gee, that didn’t sound forced at all,_ she thinks, cringing inwardly. Henry takes her coat, lips twitching, and she gives him a Look. _Shut up._    

“Wow, Mom, cool dress,” says Ali, leaning over the back of the couch. “Is that by Reema Acra?" 

“Um…maybe?” says Elizabeth, looking down at herself. “I thought the beading was pretty. But do we like this cape thing? I wasn’t sure…is it a bit too much the evil queen from Snow White?" 

“Capes are totally in right now.” 

“And I’m sorry,” Stevie chimes in, “but we can’t comment on Disney references from before we were born.” 

“ _Ouch._ Fine.”

Elizabeth steps out of her heels with a sigh of relief, and gestures to the girls to make room on the couch.  “Scoot over.” 

They do, and she flops down between them, leaning over to press a kiss to the top of each girl’s head in turn. Then she looks at Jason, sprawled in the armchair across from the couch.  

“Why are you so far away?” She makes her voice extra plaintive. “Get over here and give your poor exhausted mother a hug.” 

He rolls his eyes, but gets up and comes over, and as soon as he’s close enough she grabs his sleeve and tugs.

“Sit with us.” 

“There’s no room,” he protests. 

“Sure there is,” says Stevie, making space between herself and Elizabeth. “Come on, doofus.” 

Jason groans, but lets them pull him down between them. Elizabeth hugs him tight and plants a smacking kiss on his cheek and then lets him squirm away as far as the close quarters will allow, and they all pretend not to notice his helpless, embarrassed grin. 

“I am really, _really_ happy to see you all,” Elizabeth announces, and then she has to swallow past a sudden lump in her throat, a rush of gratitude for the simple fact of having all of her kids close enough to reach out and touch, all of them whole and relaxed and smiling, the heavy burden of uncertainty lifted. 

“Hey, team McCord,” says Henry from the armchair. 

He’s got his phone poised for a photo; as they all look towards him, he clicks the shutter, once and then a couple more times as the girls and Jason protest. He’s smiling, at them and at the screen, but when he lifts his eyes to hers, Elizabeth can tell that he’s riding the same wave of strong emotion as she is.  

She clears her throat. “Family photos are all very well, but now _you’re_ too far away.”  

Henry snorts. “There definitely isn’t room for me on that couch right now.” 

But he grabs a cushion and pulls the coffee table out so he can sit on the floor with his back to it, facing the rest of them. 

“Is this a family meeting?” asks Ali.  

“Mmm…more of a debrief,” Elizabeth decides as she says it. "Just…checking in." 

“Is there…anything more you can tell us about the person who was stalking us?” Stevie says carefully. Elizabeth smiles a little at her eldest. 

“Gold star for diplomatic phrasing, honey. I know you guys must have a million questions.”  

She sits up a bit and pushes her hands through her hair, pulling out the clips as she tries to organize her thoughts. She needs to be able to see her kids’ faces, she realizes, so she gets up and sits back down on the coffee table in front of them, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. 

“Okay. I can’t tell you who it was. I’m sorry. We don’t know yet how or if any of this is going to be made public, so it’s all still highly classified. But I _can_ tell you that the whole thing is definitely, 100% without-a-doubt over. The people involved have been arrested and will be charged. One of them has essentially turned state’s witness, so we’ll be able to find out pretty much everything about how they did it. Oliver and the rest of CyberSec will be working overtime to make sure it never happens again." 

The kids are silent; she can’t tell if what she’s saying is at all reassuring to them. From his spot next to her on the floor, Henry presses his shoulder against her knee briefly, and chimes in. 

“It’s probably going to take a couple of days to process everything, but when they're done, our security detail will be reduced. No more bodyguards shadowing your every move.” 

“Oh thank God,” says Ali. “I know Duncan and Andy were just doing their job, but they were _such_ a buzzkill, you don’t even know." 

They all laugh a little awkwardly at that, and then they’re back to silence.  

“So why'd they do it?" Jason sounds angry, and young. His left knee is jiggling, seemingly uncontrollably. _Did he have that tic before this all started?_  Elizabeth wonders with a pang. 

“We know why,” says Stevie, sharp and impatient. “It was to get at Mom.” 

Elizabeth tries not to flinch too obviously. Henry wraps his hand around her ankle, squeezing gently. 

“Yes,” she says as calmly as she can. "They were trying to scare me - scare us. To force me to resign." 

“Well, that’s just dumb,” Ali blurts out. "You would never quit! That would be like…like negotiating with terrorists, or something.” 

Elizabeth laughs a little, without humour. “Oh…I’d do that too, if I had to, to keep you all safe. And I did consider quitting." 

“Oh Mom, no…” That’s Stevie and Alison both. 

“Of course I did. I hated what this was doing to us. To you.” She catches their eyes, one by one, willing them to see how much she means it. Jason won’t look at her for more than a second. 

"If it had continued much longer…or if, God forbid, they had done something more than just threaten you..." 

“Fortunately,” Henry jumps in, “they never got that far. Maybe they never would have. Regardless, Oliver and Captain Baker and the FBI did some really great work, and with a bit of tradecraft from your Mom and I, and a couple of lucky breaks, we managed to crack the case." 

“Tradecraft?” Ali asks, diverted. “What did you guys do?” 

Elizabeth wonders if Henry dropped that bit of info on purpose to send the kids on a relatively harmless tangent. Then she decides it doesn’t matter; she’s grateful for the distraction either way. She takes a breath, ready to launch into a suitably expurgated version of the story and make it entertaining, but Jason interrupts.

“Who cares?” His voice is harsh, a little too loud. "If it happened once, it could happen again. The next guy who wants to get to Mom will find some other way in.” There’s a split second of shocked silence, and Elizabeth hears herself let out her breath on a short, involuntary _whoosh._ Then, 

“Jason!” “Come on, buddy…” “Geez, do you have to be so negative all the time?” Stevie, Henry and Ali overlap in their protests, but Jason holds his ground. “It’s not negative, it’s realistic. It’s stupid to deny it!”

As Elizabeth struggles to figure out how to respond, guilt and fear and exasperation and hurt all jockeying for dominance, she suddenly feels something trying to click into place in her mind, her analyst brain kicking in, saying  _wait, slow down, look closer. This is important._ She gazes at Jason, hunched unhappily across from her, arms crossed defensively, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

“What’s going on?” she finally asks. “What is this really about?”  

“Oh sure, like you’d actually listen if I told you.” Jason pushes his way up off the couch. “Forget it. Are we done? I have homework.” 

“Jason.” 

He shifts from foot to foot in front of them, and finally bursts out, 

“I just want to know where I stand. Why do you not get that? I’m not a little kid. I’d rather have the facts, and be scared for legit reasons, than know nothing except that my parents are lying to me _all the time_.”  His voice cracks a little on the word “time”, but no one laughs. 

“Jason,” Henry starts, and then he doesn’t seem to know how to continue. _Because he wants to deny it, but he can’t,_  Elizabeth realizes. And being accused of lying would be bad enough on its own, but this whole scenario is basically stomping all over the emotional land mine labelled “Dmitri”. Only this is worse, because it’s Jason who’s demanding the truth, angry and hurt and scared. Their son, who is in danger because of her. 

 _Oh god,_  she thinks, weary and hurting. _I can't take another round of that fight. Not with our children in the mix._

“It’s like you think we’re stupid,” Jason continues, and Elizabeth drags her focus back to him. "As if we can’t tell when you’re hiding something, or - or _spinning_  it.”

She wonders if he’s aware that he’s saying _we_ now, instead of _I._ Whether he has noticed that the girls are quiet, and there’s agreement in their silence. The baby of the family, speaking up for all of them. 

“And I know we’re just supposed to act like we don’t notice, like everything’s fine, the good guys always win, and we still believe in Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy and all that crap. But it’s not true, and I wish you’d just admit it.” 

His defiant, not-quite-steady gaze reminds her so much of Will, and he is growing up so impossibly fast. _My baby._  She shuts her eyes for a second, struggling for calm. 

“Okay,” she says softly. “I hear you. I do. Will you come sit down again so we can talk about this properly? Please, honey.” 

It takes a few seconds, but Jason does eventually plunk himself back down on the couch. Henry is silent and still at her knee, and she can’t see his face. _Jason first_ , she tells herself. _Focus._  

“Here’s the thing. I can’t tell the whole truth about stuff that’s work-related. Even when it affects you directly, like this stalker thing has. That’s not a choice I’m making; it’s a fundamental reality of my position. I would be _breaking the law_ if I talked about most of it.” 

She can see Jason gearing up to argue, and forestalls him. “I know. I know you get that. What you’re mad about is me...pretending to you that everything’s fine, when it’s not. Right?”

She waits until he nods sulkily. 

“Okay. Look, honey: before I’m Secretary of State or anything else, I am your mother. That means I have this ridiculous, futile notion that I’m supposed to protect you,” she says, aiming for light and rueful but probably missing it by a mile. "To try not to burden you, any more than you already are by this crazy life I’ve imposed on you. I hate the fact that my job puts this - this pressure on you. All of you. That’s why I deflect, why I try to…spin things on the positive side when stuff does happen that you have to know about. But listen, this is important: it has _nothing_ to do with me thinking you’re stupid, or too young for the truth _._ ”

She’s watching Jason and the girls carefully, hoping to see that she’s getting through to them. The last thing she’s expecting right then is for Henry to speak up. But he does.

“Case in point,” he says: “Your mom and I have this same argument all the time. We take turns being the overly protective one.” 

Elizabeth’s jaw drops - she can’t help herself. Luckily the kids miss it, even Jason, because they’re also staring at their father.  

“What? We do. We’ve been having it ever since I was in the Marine Corps. It kind of comes with the territory.” 

He says it as though it’s just a fact of life, not this thing that’s been fraught with so much pain and struggle over the years. But his hand is back on her ankle, and Elizabeth thinks it’s to steady them both this time, not just her. She can hear how hard he’s working to keep his tone neutral, conversational, and - God, she loves him, and she is so profoundly humbled by his loyalty, and his determination to face up to hard things and see them clearly, for her and now for their kids, no matter how much it might make old (and not so old) scars bleed. 

 _Honesty, and damn the torpedoes. Right you are, Captain. The bar has been set._  She touches the back of his neck, a silent acknowledgement. 

“What - territory - is that? Being a public service family?” Stevie is trying for gentle mockery, Elizabeth thinks, trying to help get them all back on solid ground, but it comes out a bit strangled, like maybe she’s not sure she wanted to know quite so much about her parents. Henry shrugs. 

“Yeah, I guess. Or, well, at least the parts of being a public service service family...that sometimes involve someone being in danger."  

“Geez, Dad, that – that sucks,” says Ali, and she looks and sounds so worried that Elizabeth jumps back into the conversation without really knowing what she’s going to say. She’s just certain that there are limits to how long Henry can stay casual about this, and that honesty is good but they also need to not rock their kids’ world too profoundly all at once.  

“It does suck,” she says, doing her best to match Henry’s matter-of-fact delivery. “And I’ll let you in on another secret:  _nobody ever wins_ the damn argument. Except, usually... _National Security_.” 

She says it in scare quotes, with exaggerated loathing, and counts it as a victory when Ali and Stevie both giggle a little. Jason is blank-faced and silent, but he’s still with them on the couch, and she figures maybe that’s a small victory too. 

“Look,” she continues, serious again. _Honesty. Step up, Elizabeth._  "It’s a fact: as long as I’m doing this job, I’m a very public target, and by extension so are all of you. It’s incredibly unfair, and frightening, and I admit: it makes me even more obsessive than I normally would be, about keeping you safe. 

“But… I think what I’ve learned - what your dad and I have learned – 

“Over and over again every time this comes up in our lives, it seems,” Henry puts in, drily. 

“ – and what you’ve just reminded us of, Jason - is that if we lose our trust in each other, that’s the worst thing of all. The most damaging."  

She takes a careful breath. 

“You might not think it, based on how we’ve handled things with you up till now,” she says ruefully, “but your dad and I have found ways to deal with this situation that are helping the two of us. It’s obviously time - past time - that we started applying those lessons to the three of you."

“Lessons…like what?” Ali asks diffidently.

“Well...we mostly just try to keep talking to each other as much as we can,” Elizabeth says slowly, thinking it out as she speaks. 

“To be as honest as we can,” Henry puts in. “About how we’re feeling at least, even if the details are classified. We do what we can to…stay connected."

“So.” Elizabeth leans forward. "For what it’s worth, I am really, really sorry that you’ve felt deceived, or dismissed. And…going forward, if - when - things happen, I’ll try…I really will try to be as open as I can about what’s going on. We both will. No more protective sugarcoating. I promise." 

She lets that fall into silence for a few seconds, and then she reaches over and squeezes Ali's knee, gives it a little shake.

"And listen, I wasn’t joking the other day, about therapy." 

That breaks the tension as, like a reflex, Ali and Jason groan and roll their eyes, in stereo. Stevie just looks thoughtful; Elizabeth files that away to come back to later, and keeps talking, over the other two. 

"No, I mean it. Our life is ridiculous to start with, and this stalker thing has been really scary, a gross violation of your privacy at the very least." 

Henry reaches out with his foot and jostles Jason's leg, until he looks up. 

"Having someone - something - ride roughshod over your sense of right and wrong - it’s...infuriating. Not to mention exhausting, and depressing. There's no shame in needing to talk to someone about it." 

"Are you going to?” Jason, stubbornly, is still pushing. _Of course he is. He’s his mother's son,_  she thinks with a painful rush of recognition and affection. Always pushing and pushing, and underneath it all, reaching out at the same time.  

"I - yes.” Henry nods, holding Jason’s gaze. "I have in the past, and I will again.” 

Henry nods to his son, and then nudges Elizabeth’s leg with his shoulder, a message that’s clear and pointed and likely obvious even to the kids:  _Your turn._  She rolls her eyes inwardly, but concentrates on projecting only calm acceptance on the outside. 

"I already am, actually,” she says. "I’ve been seeing someone on and off since I got back from Iran. I resisted pretty hard at first - but it does help.”  

She catches a glimpse of Henry's expression and knows he's thinking _yeah, “at first” and before every appointment since, including the ones we go to together._ Well, he’s not wrong. _I can tell it’s working by how much I hate it,_ she thinks, and then - _what the hell. Honesty, right?_  So she repeats that last bit out loud, and is rewarded by Jason finally, finally cracking a smile, surprised and involuntary. She presses her advantage.

 _"_ Sometimes it’s just…good to talk things over with a - a neutral party. Someone who has no personal investment in what you’re saying; whose job is literally to listen to you and help you figure out your own feelings. Just…keep it in mind as an option, okay? All of you." She pauses.

“And…one more thing, and then I swear I’m done. I want to say - this job. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and that includes labour, three times over.” She waits through their half-hearted groans at the old familiar joke. "The hours are ridiculous and I’m constantly on call, and every day I’m taking in all this information and making huge decisions, and I’m constantly walking this tightrope of – of compromise, between what’s right and what’s politically expedient, what’s best for the greater good…anyway, the point is, it’s just really, really hard. And there is no way - just  _no way_  - I could do it, without you guys." 

She pushes on, through their chorus of automatic protests. "No, I mean it. Not that you _literally_ help me do the job. Just that - I wouldn’t be up to it, if I didn’t have you, all of you. It doesn’t matter that we disagree a lot; I’m not saying you need to do anything or be anything in particular. Just - just by existing, by being yourselves and putting up with our crazy life and loving me in spite of it all… you make me stronger, every day. You don’t get enough credit for that.”  

Then, trying lighten things up: "Come on, you’re the light of my life, that’s all. I just want to make sure you know it." 

“Corny…" Stevie is smiling teasingly, but she has tears in her eyes. Henry does too, Elizabeth sees, and she smiles at him a little shakily. _Always the sentimental one._   

“I know,” she says to Stevie. “But what can you do? It’s the truth." 

Ali leans off the couch to grab her in an awkward sideways hug. "Thanks, Mom.”  

There’s a small silence, and then Henry takes a deep breath, and scrubs a hand over his face. 

“For the record, I second everything your Mom just said.” He pulls himself up from the floor, his hand lingering on Elizabeth’s shoulder as he moves past her.  

"And now…Who wants ice cream? I think we’ve all earned it.” His rallying, jovial tone is maybe a bit forced, but nobody calls him on it. 

“Oh my god, yes,” Elizabeth says. “Is there any of that strawberry cheesecake crunch or whatever it’s called?” 

“I think we have some in the downstairs freezer,” Stevie says, jumping up. “I’ll get it.” She ruffles Jason’s hair. “Pretty sure there’s mint chocolate down there too for you, doofus.” 

“Who’s up for chocolate peanut butter fudge?” calls Henry from the kitchen. 

“Me!” Ali bounces up in her turn. “With sprinkles. And whipped cream.” 

On the couch, Jason hasn’t moved. Elizabeth moves to sit beside him, slumping back into the cushions in an echo of his position. 

“You okay, kiddo?” she asks quietly. “That was a lot, I know. But I’m really glad you said what you did.” 

There’s a long pause, and then Jason lets out a shaky sigh, and lets his head fall so his cheek rests on her shoulder. Elizabeth can’t actually remember the last time he did that, and after everything, it almost undoes her completely. Then, 

“I’m glad you didn’t quit,” he mutters.  

She breathes in very very carefully, until she’s reasonably sure she won’t burst into tears, and turns so she can press a kiss into his hair. 

“Thank you, baby,” she says.  

* * *

 

Later, after ice cream, Elizabeth leans on the kitchen counter and yawns so widely her jaw cracks. 

“I feel like this day has been a hundred hours long.” 

“Why don’t you go on up, babe? I’ve got this.” Henry gestures to the empty bowls and the dishwasher they’re loading. The kids, of course, magically vanished the second the idea of clean-up was floated. 

 

By the time he makes it upstairs to their bedroom, she’s coming out of the bathroom, wearing just her black slip with her face scrubbed clean, her hair brushed out and twisted up into a messy ponytail. 

“Sorry, I know it’s not romantic, but I had to wash my face, I could feel the make-up just _seeping_ into my pores and taking up residence…” 

Henry looks her up and down. He grins, and reaches for her. 

“Okay, you looked amazing before, but this outfit is _really_ working for me.” 

“I’ll bet. You, on the other hand, are still way too dressed.” 

“No argument here.” 

Held close in the circle of his arms, she gets to work on his shirt buttons. He leans his forehead against hers and sighs. 

“So that was quite the conversation we ended up having, with the kids.” 

She huffs out a breath, agreeing. “Right? Multiple knives to the heart, one after the other. But I think we got somewhere important? With Jason especially.” 

“Yeah. You were right that we have to start treating them more like grown-ups in this. As much as it kills me to use the word “grown-up” in connection with any of them.” 

She chuckles ruefully, and abandons his shirt temporarily, tipping forward to press a kiss to the bare skin over his collarbone. 

“Thanks for backing me up. For all the things you said. And for sticking with me through 25 years of that protectiveness fight. Our kids have a flat-out _amazing_ role model in the honesty and loyalty department.” 

“You said some pretty amazing things too. And…for the record?” He frames her face with his hands, gently, like she’s something infinitely precious. “Light of my life, right here.” 

“Me and the kids, you mean.”  

“Sure. But you were first.” 

“You too.” 

And then his mouth is on hers, and her only thought is _oh, **finally**._ She goes from exhausted to utterly _starved_ for his touch so fast that she’s dizzy with it. She sways into the kiss and he groans in the back of his throat and catches her, hands dropping from her face to her hips to pull her hard against him. She wraps her arms around his neck and holds his head to hers for kiss after kiss, until the first shock of urgency transmutes into something slower, infinitely warm and more relaxed than they’ve been able to be in - 

“God, how long has it been?” she gasps. 

“Way too long.” Henry is as breathless as she is. “So long that I can’t decide between fast and desperate, or taking it slow, taking our time because we _have_ time…” 

“Both,” she says. “I vote for both. One first, and then the other.” 

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Henry mutters into the crook of her neck, and she laughs delightedly, because he almost never curses like that, lapsed Catholic that he is, and it means he’s not sure he’ll survive the night, which is another way of saying he is totally and completely on board with her plan.

“With maybe some sleep in between,” she amends, as she pushes his unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders and lets him shrug the rest of the way out of it and his undershirt, while she goes for his belt buckle. “Because I love you, and I have missed this _so much_ , but if we take it slow right now, I’m afraid I’ll doze off partway through.”

Henry catches her mouth in another kiss, hot and hard, and then breaks it to suck in air as she gets a hand inside his boxers. They stumble back towards the bed, and she lets him go so he can sit down to kick off his dress pants, and she can pull off the black slip. He reaches for her while her arms are still over her head, caught up in the fabric, and she yelps and topples into him, laughing again. Then his mouth is on her breast and his hands are stroking down her back and sides and up between her thighs, and they both groan and fall back onto the bed together. And - yeah, _fast and desperate_ definitely covers it…until he’s inside her and she’s braced above him, and they’re moving together, and he stills suddenly, looking up at her.

“Hey. Hey, what’s this?” He reaches up to touch her face, and she realizes that there are tears leaking out the corners of her eyes.

“Oh,” she says. “Nothing, I just - “

Henry frowns a little and then sits up, carefully so as not to dislodge her, and she shudders because, even though she’s apparently a bit of an emotional wreck, him doing that changes the angle in a way that feels really _really_ good. So does the fact that now he can put his arms around her, and she can do the same to him, and they can be skin to skin, as close as it’s possible to get, pretty much everywhere.

“Tonight, you know, with the kids, and - everything,” she mumbles into his shoulder. "It’s… god, please don’t stop.” 

Which makes no sense, because in this position Henry has almost no leverage; she’s the one doing most of the moving. But he kisses her neck and holds her steady and they don’t stop.

“It’s just a lot,” she gets out. “And I’m so relieved that we’re all okay, and  - 

“I love you,” Henry says, like he can’t help himself. “So much.” 

He’s getting close; she can hear it in his voice and feel it in his body, and when she shifts her weight a bit and quickens the pace, the small noises he makes send heat and urgency flooding through her. She kisses him hungrily until they have to break apart to gasp for air.

“Elizabeth,” says Henry against her mouth. “Babe - are you -

“Yes,” she says. “Yes, oh - 

 And she holds him tight as they tip over the edge at last, together.

* * *

Afterward, it’s all Elizabeth can do to get them both properly under the covers. Henry yawns hugely as she manhandles them both into position, and then subsides, half on his stomach with his forehead against her shoulder and an arm across her body.

“Oh hey, I told the kids we’d be sleeping in tomorrow,” he mumbles sleepily. “All of us. I’ll write them a note for school.”

“Really?” It’s a small thing, but Elizabeth smiles, wide and uncontrollable, even as her eyes are closing. “Surprise family breakfast. I love that.”

“And before breakfast… I have plans. Not family ones. Just for you.” Henry twitches the fingers of the hand that’s resting on her stomach, but can’t seem to muster any more words or movement. She giggles, she can’t help it. 

“Plans,” she says. “Gotcha.”

"Gonna take our time."

She shivers, and smiles at the ceiling some more, her hand drifting through his hair. “Okay."

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Reema Acra is a real New York-based fashion designer. When I googled formal gowns with capes (as one does!), I found one of hers that looks a bit like the one that Elizabeth is wearing at the end of “The French Revolution”. It’s not a match though, so if anyone knows who actually did create Elizabeth’s gown, please advise! I’d like to credit it properly.


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